


Two Halves of a Coin

by DotyTakeThisDown



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Body Worship, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 20:10:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21087122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DotyTakeThisDown/pseuds/DotyTakeThisDown
Summary: Caleb is twelve when the brown smudge on his chest forms itself into a picture. It’s a full moon, haloed in silver clouds, the colors as vivid as a crisp summer night.





	Two Halves of a Coin

**Author's Note:**

> I have a weakness for soulmate AUs and I just couldn’t help myself. This takes place in a hand-wavy fashion of canon, in that there are some spoilers but other than Caleb's backstory, nothing takes place during any particular time. I also deviated a little from the traditional “soulmate mark” trope with my incarnation.

Bren is twelve when the brown smudge on his chest forms itself into a picture. It’s a full moon, haloed in silver clouds, the colors as vivid as a crisp summer night. He watches, transfixed, as the image settles itself just above his heart. 

_“Mutter!”_ Bren grins as he bolts down the hallway. 

His father is away on business for the Empire, but his mother is there in the kitchen, flour coating her arms from the elbows down. She abandons the half-made pie crust on the counter, her eyes crinkling with concern. 

“Look!” Bren puffs out his chest, twisting to show off the mark. 

“It’s beautiful.” She pulls him into a hug. “I can’t wait to meet them someday.” 

“When?” Bren’s eyes are too wide, too eager. “When will I meet them?” 

“I don’t know, my dear. You will just have to be patient.” His mother smiles and smiles, but her eyes are sad.

***

Bren is sixteen and screaming as Trent presses a white-hot iron to the mark and burns it beyond all recognition. It’s the sadness on his mother’s face that he sees when he closes his eyes against the agony. 

She’d known, he realizes in a distant part of his mind, far away from the pain. Maybe not that _this_ would happen, but that something would. That his childhood bliss was only temporary.

The iron lifts, leaving Bren choking on his own breath. He brings a hand to his chest, burning the tips of his fingers on his own skin. 

“Love is a weakness,” Trent tells them. “It’s better not to know. The people you love will either betray you or be used against you.” 

It’s only late at night, when he’s alone with his thoughts, that Bren presses his fingers to the knotted scar and wonders. 

***

The first time Astrid kisses him is at the Harvest Close festival. He likes her well enough, although he’s not sure what they have could be called love. Maybe someday but now it’s young and reckless and alive. 

They’re dancing, wrapped up in the warm evening lights hanging from the trees and the musicians playing a lively tune and each other red-faced with laughter and exertion. Trent is away and here, in the dark, Bren feels like like he might be just another farmer boy, dancing with a girl. 

Bren holds her tightly, like he’s afraid that she might spin away from him and be lost in the crowd. As she twirls back into him, her arms fold around his shoulders. Her hair is brown and tangled across her face. Her skirts land on top of his feet, threatening to trip them both. 

“Oh, Bren.” She laughs, her face easy and open in a way that he’s never sure if he’ll see again. And then she kisses him. 

Her lips are soft and her mouth tastes like cinnamon. The music plays on in the distance. The other dancers spin around them, a blur of colors and movement. Bren sees, hears none of it. His eyes are closed and he can only hear the steady beat of his own heart. 

As Bren pulls away, his thumb brushes over the scar at Astrid’s throat. It was a rose, he remembers, with petals like rubies and leaves like emeralds. 

“Does it bother you?” she asks. There’s something dark in her eyes and the look reminds him of Trent. It feels like a test. 

“No,” he says, even though it does. 

She laughs, a mirthless sound, and kisses him again. 

***

“The people you love have betrayed you.” 

Bren’s parents are traitors to the Empire, plotting against the king. He knows this, it’s right there in the pages of his mind, and traitors must be punished. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Bren promises, with steel in his voice and ice in his heart. 

Trent’s hand comes down on his shoulder, the closest to reassurance he gets. He smiles. 

The house goes up like a barrel of gunpowder. The wood ignites, flames bursting out of the windows and roof. Bren watches, and he feels nothing. 

Then, his mother screams. 

Something shatters in his chest, in his head. His parents aren’t traitors, could never be traitors. He remembers his father, sewing up the holes in his tattered uniform. His mother, pride in her eyes every time he came home from the Academy. 

_Trent betrayed all of us._

The nerves in his body flare, like he’s thrown himself into those flames. He opens his mouth, pain roaring out of him, scalding the inside of his throat, filling his lungs with ash. 

He screams. 

And screams. 

And screams. 

But it’s too late. His parents are gone. 

***

Bren opens his eyes to a plain white room and a woman’s face. She puts a finger to her lips, smiles at him, and vanishes. 

Bren’s fingers shake as he runs them over the scars on his arms. These, out of anything in this room, are familiar. He clenches his hands into fists. 

He runs. 

***

Caleb believes in a hot fire, a warm meal, and a healthy layer of dirt. He believes in staying as far away from other people as possible, and encouraging them to keep their distance when it’s not. 

It’s been sixteen years, but it’s still possible that he might run into someone who recognizes him. He’ll keep hiding, until everyone he knows is dead. Maybe even after. 

Believing in people takes time. 

If he’s honest with himself, he believes in Nott from the moment she picks the lock on their jail cell. She’s sometimes reckless, and often drunk, and always strange, but they make a good team. He can see the secrets lurking behind her eyes whenever the conversation wanders to anything deeper than what they’ll do tomorrow. 

Secrets are something he can live with. 

***

When Caleb looks at Mollymauk, he sees everything he’s not. The tiefling is loud and bright and boisterous. He isn’t afraid to draw attention to himself, seems to revel in it, in fact. Molly doesn’t have any secrets, at least none that he himself is aware of. Caleb, whose entire being is made of secrets, finds that Molly makes his head spin in more ways than one. 

Molly isn’t shy about his body. His skin is covered in tattoos but none of them look like a soulmate mark. They’re all too crisp, too bright, too new. 

“I don’t have one,” Molly tells him with a coy smile, catching his wandering gaze in the bath. “Never have. At least, I don’t think I have.” 

“I don’t either,” Caleb says. “Not anymore.” 

Caleb wonders if they might be able to have something together. His heart jumps when Molly pins him against the wall, the heat of his body searing through their clothes; when Molly’s eyes flicker down to his lips as he flirts; when Molly presses a kiss to Caleb’s forehead, the touch the only thing to filter through the numbness. He wants to try but he doesn’t know how. 

Before hope can spring into something real, Molly is gone. Trent’s words ring again in Caleb’s ears. _The people you love will either betray you or be used against you._

***

Caleb doesn’t deserve a family, not after what he’s done, but he has one anyway. He feels it in the quiet moments around the campfire. In Clay’s gentle tending of their wounds. In Fjord’s fierce protectiveness. In Beau’s “too cool to care” attitude. In Nott settling her bed down next to his, to share warmth in the night. In Jester making sure everyone has enough to eat. In Yasha’s quiet offers to shave his beard. 

He tells himself that he’ll leave before he gets too close, that it’s the best thing for everyone. If Trent or the Soltryce Academy or the Scourgers find them, he’ll get them all killed. 

They’ll be used against him. 

Caleb doesn’t leave. He likes them too much, likes how he feels when he’s with them. He doesn’t want to go back to be alone. It might be a selfish desire to cling to what he doesn’t deserve, but then hasn’t he always been selfish? 

***

They’re all a bit drunk from Nott’s unending flask. The fire crackles as it devours the firewood Beau collected. Caleb’s stretched out on the grass, his head pillowed on his jacket.   
Here, inevitably, the conversation turns to soulmates. 

“I don’t believe in that stuff,” Beau says. With her words slurring a bit, it doesn’t have the same conviction that her raised chin would suggest. She’s never bothered to hide hers—a single white feather along her forearm. “Soulmates. They’re not real.” 

“I thought I did.” Nott’s head rests on Caleb’s stomach. The bandages around her arms are coming unraveled. She pulls her shirt up, revealing a golden sun on her stomach. Something stirs in Caleb’s memories, drifting back below the surface before he can pin it down. 

“Is that—” Jester quiets, peering down at the mark. “Is that your husband?” 

“Yes,” Nott admits, softly. She doesn’t go on and no one pushes. 

“Here’s mine.” Jester whirls in a circle, pulling up the back of her hair. At the nape of her desk is a wave crashing against a rocky shore. “What about you, Fjord? Do you have one?” 

“Oh, uh…” Fjord blushes from his place at the fire, cleaning his falchion. His eyes flicker to where her hair is covering her neck. “Yeah, I’ve got one.” 

“Where?” Jester’s curious now, shuffling closer to him. “Where is it? What is it?” 

“It’s not anywhere I’m going to show off to everybody.” Fjord ducks his face out of the light of the fire. 

“I got it.” Jester clicks her tongue and winks at him. “You can show me later.” 

Fjord nearly chokes on his own breath. 

“I have one,” Yasha says, her voice as rough as the whetstone she runs along Magician’s Judge. She angles her shoulder toward them, pulling aside the cloth of her shirt. A white lily, its petals dripping with liquid gold. “What about you, Caduceus?” 

“What, me?” Clay is on his back, his eyes on the stars. “’Course I do. It’s a staff and a wreathe.” 

“The symbol of the Wildmother?” Jester asks. 

“That’s right.” Clay pulls up his pant leg but there’s nothing to see but hair. “Everyone in my family has the same mark. Been that way for generations.” 

Jester frowns, no doubt wondering why she doesn’t have one for the Traveler. “Caleb?” 

Caleb glances down at Nott, his fingers twitching to reach for the scar. He hasn’t given it a thought, not since Molly’s death. “I don’t have one.” 

***

Meeting Essek feels like staring into the depths of the dodeca, following those threads of possibility through the stars. Caleb can’t help but wonder, if he were born a drow in the Dynasty, is Essek the person he would be? If his mind hadn’t shattered on that fateful night, would they be opposites on the battlefield today, two halves of the same coin? 

Caleb barely notices the odd flutter of butterflies in his chest every time Essek is around—there’s far too much going on for that. If his heart beats faster whenever he finds himself alone with Essek in the library, he writes it off as eagerness to find out what he’ll be taught next. Dunamancy feels like an art as much as a school of magic and he’s eager for the occasional brushstroke to turn into the full masterpiece. 

There’s no alternative. Caleb can’t have feelings for the Shadowhand. They barely know anything _about_ him. Of course, not even knowing what Essek looks like under that cloak doesn’t stop Caleb from imagining the possibilities. And why would Essek possibly return his affections? Surely he has better choices than a broken wizard from the Empire. 

It’s better if Caleb forgets about his feelings, focuses on learning as much as he can from Essek and repaying the debt when that day arrives. Better for everyone. 

***

Essek has other ideas. 

The library of Xhorhaus is quiet, the rest of the Mighty Nein off on some errands or tending the garden on the roof. Essek critiques Caleb’s form as he draws a complicated set of sigils in the air with one hand. 

Sweat itches against the back of Caleb’s neck. Even though they’ve been at it for an hour already, Essek doesn’t look frustrated. Caleb ignores the race of his own heart and the way Essek’s long fingers page through his own spellbook. 

“Yes,” Essek says, at last. “Perfect.” 

Caleb smiles, opening his mouth to respond, when his mouth becomes otherwise occupied. Essek’s lips are warmer than he expected, softer. His hands find Caleb’s shoulders, holding him in place. 

Caleb freezes, waiting for the moment when he’ll wake in his own bed. A part of his mind observes from a distance, contemplating every moment he’s spent with Essek so far, wondering how he could have been so wrong. 

In the present, Caleb stands there and tries to keep up. It’s been a long time since he’s kissed anyone; he can only hope that he hasn’t forgotten how it goes. 

Essek’s kiss is matter-of-fact, a steady rhythm that’s easy to follow along with. His lips tease Caleb’s open but he doesn’t move to deepen it. Caleb longs to trace that soft bottom lip with his tongue but the idea that he might do something that Essek doesn’t like holds him back. 

Maybe that’s not how drow kiss. He wouldn’t want to overstep. Wouldn’t want to ruin this as soon as it’s begun. 

Essek pulls away, a mysterious smile on his face. Caleb feels like he could drown in the dark blue of his eyes. 

“Well done,” he says, and Caleb can only wonder if he means the magic or the kiss. 

***

It isn’t until Caleb comes to a sudden halt in the market, staring at the bag of flour in his hands that he’s picking up for Caduceus, that he wonders when exactly Rosohna became _home_. 

His skin is clean. His clothes are comfortable and free of dirt and holes. His scars are in plain view. He still feels the need to look over his shoulder, probably always will, but he doesn’t have the constant grinding sensation of being _watched_. Of Trent and Astrid and Eodwulf and the whole of the Cerberus Assembly nipping at his heels. 

Instead, he has a house with a tree growing from the roof, a family to watch his back, and friends to turn to. One friend that’s becoming something more. 

Caleb clutches the flour tighter to his chest, like doing so might help him cling to the life he’s found, and hurries home. 

***

Bells chime through the house. Caleb drops his books with a _thump_, already on his feet. The others are away—Beau visiting Dairon, Jester and Clay tending the tree, Fjord who knows, Nott spending time with Yeza—and he’s the only one to answer the call. 

He peeks through the window to find Essek. 

Caleb’s smile slips away as he opens the door. Essek leans against the frame, hand clutched against his stomach. Blood stains his hands, soaks through his robes. 

“Help,” he says, and stumbles inside. 

“_Scheisse_.” Caleb hurries to move out of the way and closes the door. He lingers there, hands outstretched. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Essek says through clenched teeth. Caleb realizes—with no small mount of shock—that the Shadowhand’s feet are touching the ground. Essek stumbles, falling back against the wall for support, and loses his footing entirely. 

Caleb catches him by the shoulder, lowering him to the ground. Essek feels small and thin beneath his robes but Caleb can still feel the tight wind of his muscles. He’s trembling. “May I?” Caleb asks, indicating the wound. 

Essek nods, air hissing between his teeth. 

Caleb pulls the robes aside, revealing a shallow stab wound. It’s severe, long and deep, but not lethal. Not as bad as it looks, indeed. Not if they can get the bleeding to stop. Caleb bunches up the ruined robes and presses down hard, Essek grunting and grinding his teeth. With his free hand, he points to the ceiling and thinks of Jester. 

_Come at once. Essek is hurt._

He can only hope that the roof isn’t out of range. They should have thought to test that, for just this kind of situation. 

“What happened?” he asks, trying to bring Essek’s attention back to him. The drow’s eyes are sliding closed, a thin sheen of sweat across his face. 

“I have many enemies.” Essek’s voice is as smooth as a snake’s scales against marble. “You know this. Some of them are more crafty than others.” 

“Did you catch them?” 

Essek chuckles, low and dark in his throat. “All but one.” 

Caleb glances desperately upward, hoping for the thunder of Jester’s footsteps. What could she be doing up there? “Why did you come here?” 

“You were the closest.” 

Caleb doesn’t think that’s quite true. Den Bhelan is right next door, for instance, but he doesn’t say anything. He takes Essek’s hand, places it over the cloth. “Keep the pressure on,” he says. “I’m going to get something for that.” 

Essek’s hand reaches out, surprisingly tight around his wrist. “Stay,” he says, and it feels like an order. “Your friend is coming.” 

“Okay.” Caleb settles his knees back down against the hard floor. “I won’t leave you.” 

Essek’s grip slips away from him and Caleb glances down. His eyes catch on the inside of the drow’s wrist, the mark there. A moon. A moon with silver clouds. 

Memories kick in, pummeling him in the chest. Even with the mark long burned away, he’d stood in front of a mirror as a child and traced every line of his own moon. This is a perfect match. He tears his eyes away from it before Essek can catch him staring. 

Jester explodes into the room, following closely by her enormous pastel lollipop. “Essek!” 

“It’s bad,” Caleb says, moving to the side to give her room. 

“Not for long.” Jester’s voice is sunshine and rainbows but there’s a low growl in that suggests she can’t wait to move onto the _hunt down the bastards that did this_ portion. 

She rests her hand on Essek’s chest and he inhales sharply. Caleb watches as the wound closes, leaving behind only pale blue skin and a few darker bruises. “There you are,” Jester says, patting Essek on the shoulder. “Good as new.” 

Essek lifts his head and hurries to put his robes into as much order as he can. Propriety sweeps over him like a cloak as he gets to his feet. 

“Thank you,” he says, like it’s an afterthought. “I’d better report to the Bright Queen.” 

“You should rest,” Jester says, hands on her hips. Her lollipop fades and Caleb half-expects the floor underneath to be coated in a haze of glitter. “You could’ve _died_.” 

“It can’t wait.” Essek’s mouth is a tight line. His gaze avoids the both of them, focusing instead on the door. 

Caleb knows he should offer to go along, just in case he gets ambushed again, but all he can think about is the soulmark and the smell of burning flesh as his own was burned away. 

Essek is his soulmate. 

Essek, the Shadowhand, prodigy of the Dynasty. 

His soulmate. 

“Are you going to be all right?” Jester asks. “Maybe we should go with you.” 

“I will be fine.” Essek takes a step toward the door. With his feet on the ground, he seems ungainly. “They will not get the jump on me again.” 

“Be careful,” Caleb says. 

Fury trembles in the lines of Essek’s shoulders. “I’m not the one who needs to be careful.” 

And then he’s gone. 

***

Caleb avoids Essek. There’s no other word for it. It’s not hard, at first, with the Shadowhand busy hunting down his assailants and anyone involved. Caleb doesn’t know how to face him, not with the knowledge that their skin has labeled them soulmates. 

Would Essek even believe him, if he said as much? It’s not like has his own mark to show as proof, not anymore. Maybe he should let it go. Remind himself that he’s not meant to have a soulmate, that the choice was made for him a long time ago. 

A former Empire Scourger and the Kryn Shadowhand—it sounds like one of Jester’s romance novels. 

He takes to the library, isolating himself in his books. He can feel the gaze of the Mighty Nein on him, knows that he’s acting stranger than normal, but he doesn’t know what else to do. No matter what happens, he can always count on books to have the answers, if he’s studious enough to find the right ones. He has more than enough questions to occupy him. 

It’s safe, until Jester corners him there, leaning her weight against the book that he’d been about to open. 

“Are you okay, Caleb?” she asks. There are beads braided in the hair to both sides of her face, clacking against her horns. 

“I’m fine.” Caleb reaches for another book, but she rests her hand on that one too. 

“It’s just—a message came for you from Essek.” Jester pauses, studying his expression. He gives nothing away. “He wants to know if you’re still interested in learning Dunamancy.” 

There’s a pang deep in Caleb’s stomach. Dunamancy could be everything he’s been searching for, but he may never know now. Not as long as he can’t look Essek in the eye. Not as long as he can’t force his feelings back into their box. “Of course I am.” 

“Then why haven’t you hung out with him lately?” 

“It’s complicated.” Caleb’s afraid that if he looks her in the eye, she’ll be able to see the truth there. He stays hunched over his book. 

“Did he say something to you?” Jester is quiet, gentle. “Do you think we can’t trust him anymore?” 

“No. No, that’s not it.” 

“It’s okay if you want to have friends here, Caleb. We won’t mind.” 

Caleb chokes down a laugh. “I’m not sure Essek has friends.” 

“Everyone has friends!” 

“I’ll write him back,” Caleb says with finality. Jester hovers for a moment and leaves him alone. Caleb sighs and pulls a piece of parchment toward him. He stares at it until his internal clock tells him that it’s well past midnight, to match the eternally dark sky outside. 

He doesn’t write. 

***

A cup clinks against the table, right next to Caleb’s ear. He lifts his head, squinting blearily at a steaming mug of tea. It smells like peppermint, with no sign of death. 

“Did you sleep here?” Clay asks, although Caleb thinks that should be obvious from his rumpled clothing, the lines engraved into his face, and the fact that he’s only just been woken up. 

“Didn’t mean to.” Caleb scrubs a hand over his face and takes a sip of the tea. It scalds the inside of his throat. “I was reading.” 

Clay drags out a chair and sits on the other side of the table. “Anything interesting?” 

“Nothing that will help us bring Yasha home. Not yet.” 

“We’re going to figure this out.” Clay’s expression is a relaxed, easy confidence. “You don’t have to do this all alone.” 

“I know.” Caleb takes another sip of tea, if only to have something to do with his hands. 

“As someone who has spent a lot of time alone, I can tell when someone is trying to isolate themselves.” 

“I’m not—I’m not isolating myself.” He’s _not_. He spent two hours trying to track down a pastry shop with Jester just yesterday. Or maybe that was a few days ago. 

“You haven’t come to meals in days.” Clay tilts his head, examining him. Caleb has the oddest sensation of being read like a book. “What does this have to do with Essek? Do you think it’s your fault he was attacked?” 

“Of course not.” 

“Then why are you hiding?” 

Caleb wishes he had Nott’s skills with invisibility. “I’m not.” 

“Then you won’t mind if Essek comes in here right now.” 

Caleb stands so abruptly the chair topples over, the wood cracking against the floor. His muscles tremble with the urge to run, although his mind hasn’t decided where. “Essek is here?” 

Caduceus smiles, satisfied. “What happened with Essek?” 

“It’s stupid.” Caleb rights the chair and flops onto it. He pulls down his shirt, showing off the thick scar. “When I was with the Soltryce Academy, Ikithon burned away my soulmark.” 

Clay’s brow furrows. “You can still find your soulmate, if that’s what you wish. Obscuring the mark doesn’t break the Moonweaver’s magic.” 

“That’s the thing.” Caleb chokes on a laugh, his voice too high. “I’ve already found him.” 

“Oh.” Understanding passes over Clay’s face. “Essek.” 

“Exactly.” 

“The marks, they’re a sign, but they’re not a promise. Just because someone is your soulmate, it doesn’t mean you have to build a life together.” 

“Doesn’t it?” 

“No. You’re still allowed to have a choice.” 

Caleb glances pointedly at the surface of the table, hiding Clay’s legs. “You don’t.” 

“Who says that?” Clay runs a finger around the rim of the tea cup. “I _had_ a choice, everyone in my family did. I chose to follow the Wildmother because I believe in her, not because my skin says I have to.

So, tell me, Mr. Caleb, do you believe in Essek?” 

“Yes,” Caleb says, on a breath, without even thinking about it. 

“You should tell him that.” Clay stands, gently pushing his chair back and picking up the mug. “He’s in the kitchen.” 

Caleb bolts to the kitchen, only slowing to a walk when he reaches the door. Essek is there, watching Jester sort a platter of pastries in front of him. 

“This one is strawberry and that one’s apple and I’m not really sure what this one is but it’s very sour—” 

“Caleb.” There’s relief in Essek’s eyes as he turns. “I have a spell for you, if you’re willing.” 

Caleb isn’t sure he remembers how to breathe. “Perhaps we should go to the library?” 

“Do you want to take any snacks with you?” Jester asks, offering them the platter of pastries. 

“Maybe later,” Caleb says, his stomach rolling with the thought of even picking up one of the doughnuts. “Thanks, Jester.” 

Essek joins him at the door, leaving the tea and pastries behind. “Lead the way.” 

“I have a confession,” Essek says, once they’ve reached the library. “I don’t actually have a spell to teach you. I wanted to talk.” 

“Is it finally time to repay those favors?” 

“No. Not yet.” Essek laughs, softly. His robes billow around him, like he’s _fidgeting_. “Why are you avoiding me?” 

“I’m not avoiding you.” Caleb can’t look him in the eye as he says it. “We’ve just been busy.” 

“Busy sleeping on books and eating pastries?” The look in Essek’s eyes resembles hurt. His eyes focus on the line across Caleb’s cheek. “Is this about me getting blood all over your front steps?” 

Caleb lets out a sigh, leans against the table for support. His books are still strewn across the surface. “Why did you come here?” 

Essek stares at him for a long moment. “I knew I could trust you.” 

“Is that all?” 

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking clearly.” Essek opens one of the books, flipping the pages too quickly to take in any of the words. “I knew that I would be safe here. With you.” 

“I have been avoiding you.” Caleb wrings his hands and then tugs down his shirt to show off the scar. “This used to be my soulmate mark. Someone burned it off, a long time ago.” 

“Oh.” 

“When you were hurt—I saw—” Caleb reaches across the table, offering his hand. Essek hesitates and brings his hand out from under his cloak. There’s his mark, in full view. Caleb wants to trace every detail with his fingers but he settles for staring at it from across the table. 

The moon is full, perfectly round and silver. Wisps of clouds surround it. It almost seems to glow like it’s a soft summer night. 

“Is this what it looked like?” Essek asks. 

“Yes.” 

Caleb waits for Essek to leave, to accuse him of lying, to call him broken. He doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?” 

“I don’t know what it means,” Caleb admits. He leans his full weight against the table, head bowed. 

“What do you want it to mean?” 

Caleb looks up at that, finds Essek staring back at him with open eyes. There’s caution there, but curiosity too. Caleb holds his breath and rounds the table. He takes Essek’s hand in his own and feels the magic crackling in his blood. 

“This, is what I want.” Caleb lifts the mark to his lips. Essek gasps and Caleb wants to hear it again, and again, and again. The drow’s skin is smooth and cool beneath his kiss. “What do you think?” 

“I want to see where it goes.” Essek’s free hand emerges from beneath the cloak, wrapping around the back of his neck and dragging him up into a kiss. 

It’s not their first, but it does feel _different_. There’s a charge in the air that wasn’t there before, a new urgency in the trace of Essek’s tongue along his bottom lip. 

Caleb brings his hands up, slowly, like Essek might disappear if he moves too fast. His fingers cup under Essek’s elbows, barely a touch. 

Essek pulls back, brushing a kiss across his cheek. “You can touch me.” 

Caleb slides his hands back, finding Essek’s hips, as he leans up for another kiss. The heat between them is blazing hot, although maybe that’s just the combination of Essek’s robes and Caleb’s purple coat. 

Essek’s tongue slips into his mouth, an exploratory touch. Caleb pushes up against Essek, bringing them chest to chest. There’s no space at all between them and still far too much. 

Caleb tugs Essek’s bottom lip between his teeth and is rewarded with a low moan. Essek’s hands shove up underneath his coat, spanning across his back and holding him impossibly closer. 

Essek’s tongue presses against the roof of his mouth in the same moment he grinds up against Caleb and—_Oh_. 

It’s too much, too fast, and Caleb knows that he should pull away. He should say that he needs some time, needs to think about this new shift in their relationship. He never thought he would find his soulmate, never thought that his soulmate would even _want_ him if he did. He shouldn’t want to bring someone else into this life, this constant danger. Instead, here they are. 

Essek grinds against him again, cock obviously hard against Caleb’s thigh, and those thoughts go out the window. Caleb supposes that he _is_ selfish. 

“Not here,” Caleb gasps, head flopping back as he breaks out of the kiss. “Not next to the books.” 

Essek chuckles, teeth tugging at Caleb’s earlobe. “Where do you have in mind?” 

Caleb takes a step back, his knees threatening to buckle. His pants are uncomfortably tight and he almost rethinks his desire to take this elsewhere. Essek looks half-unraveled, his robes coming loose, his lips swollen a darker blue. The thought of Jester or Nott or Fjord or anyone else walking in on them is the deciding factor. 

“Bedroom,” Caleb says. “Let me show you to my room.” 

He tries not to look around too obviously as he steps from the library and up the stairs. Essek follows him quietly, not commenting if he notices Caleb’s anxious checking for the other members of the Mighty Nein. 

Caleb only lets out a sigh of relief as he leans back against his closed door. Essek takes in the room with an appraising sweep, expression not giving away any of his thoughts. 

“There are books here.” 

“This is my room.” Caleb pushes off the door. Now that they’re alone, and unlikely to be interrupted, his heart is racing in his ears. “If you’re admiring the scenery, then I’m clearly not doing a good enough job distracting you.” 

Essek hums, low in his throat. “Perhaps you should work on that.” 

“I think I’ll start with this.” Caleb steps back into Essek’s space, pushing the full length of their bodies together. The kiss, by comparison, is almost chaste—lips brushing together, a steady dance with no rush to move any further. 

Caleb pushes his hands underneath Essek’s robes, searching for the laces. Instead, he finds only thick folds of material and more straps than should be required for a garment. He makes a low hum of disappointment as he pulls out of the kiss in order to get a better look at them. 

“Have I stumped you?” Essek teases, his fingers moving nimbly over the closures at the front of his robes. They fall open and Caleb strokes trembling fingers down the drow’s sternum. 

“Beautiful.” 

Essek shrugs his shoulders, letting the robes fall to the floor. Underneath, he is completely, utterly, naked. His body is lean, his muscles favoring towards the lithe rather than the powerful. Caleb had wondered, late at night when he couldn’t sleep and not even his books could distract him, if Essek’s robes concealed some deep scars. 

In truth, the drow’s body looks like it’s been carved from marble, all smooth lines and lack of hair. Even his cock looks perfect, flushed a darker blue and waiting at attention. 

“You’re overdressed,” Essek says pointedly, his hands fisting in Caleb’s collar. He drags him into a kiss, not needing to see in order to divest him of his clothing. 

The coat goes first, thudding to the floor in a pile of thick cloth. Caleb doesn’t help, more hinders, his hands too busy exploring the smooth expanses of Essek’s chest and back. Now that he’s finally got the Shadowhand here, he can’t seem to let go, even for the second it takes for Essek to pull his shirt over his head. 

Caleb freezes as Essek’s thumbs tuck into his waistband. His lips go still and Essek draws back, a question in his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” Caleb says, although he’s not sure it’s true. “Why did you stop?” 

Essek’s hand spans his hip, fingers long and spread. His head tilts, gaze gentling. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 

“I want to.” Caleb’s hands are trembling as he wraps them over Essek’s shoulders, holding them both in place. “I want you.” 

“I don’t want you to feel rushed, because of the mark. This can wait.” 

Caleb is struck, then, with the knowledge that Essek is older than he is. Much older, with centuries of lifetime ahead of him. Caleb is over thirty, almost halfway through the average human lifespan. He doesn’t _have_ centuries. 

He doesn’t want to waste another minute. 

Caleb shoves his own trousers down and steps out of them. The air feels cold but he doesn’t have time to notice before Essek is kissing him again and Caleb is leaning closer, pressing their bare skin together. 

Essek sighs into his mouth, soft and sweet. Their arms wrap around each other, holding them together more than exploring. It’s an embrace Caleb feels like he can melt into. 

As Caleb licks into Essek’s mouth almost lazily, the drow’s hand begins to slide down his back. His fingers trace the bumps of his spine one at a time, pausing at the base. Caleb pulls him closer, urging him on. Essek’s fingers follow the crack of his ass, barely brushing over him. Caleb shudders, letting out a moan, and pulls away to breathe. 

“I don’t suppose you have—” Essek says, teasing him again. 

“No,” Caleb says, lamenting it now. “I don’t have anything.” 

“Not tonight, then.” Essek sounds barely affected but Caleb can feel the race of his heart against his skin, the heat of his cock between them. “I can bring something, if you like.” 

“Please.” Air hisses between Caleb’s teeth. “I want you.” 

“Then you’ll have me.” Essek pulls away, leaving only cold air between them. He grabs Caleb by the hand, leading him to the bed and laying him out. 

Caleb waits for Essek to join him, to kiss him again, but instead the Shadowhand just stands there, eyes _devouring_ him in a way that raises more heat on Caleb’s skin than self-consciousness. 

Caleb reaches a hand out toward him. “Why are you over there?” 

“We lead dangerous lives.” 

Before Caleb can respond, Essek is on him, brushing kisses down his throat, hands stroking over his chest and stomach. It’s heady and intoxicating, the touches gentle and random. Caleb’s cock twitches between them, ignored. 

Caleb whines, bucking his hips up, but Essek doesn’t stop his slow exploration. He dips his tongue into the hollow above Caleb’s breastbone, nips over his collarbone, sucks on his nipples. 

Caleb reaches up, pressing his fingers into Essek’s back, counting his vertebrae, until they’re gently removed. “Let me,” Essek says, low and gravelly just below his chest. “Your turn will come.” 

Caleb huffs a sigh as he lets his hands fall back to the bed, clench in the sheets. Essek chuckles, placing open-mouthed kisses down to the top of his happy trail. His fingers trace over the lines of the scar on his chest, like he’s drawing the moon that should still be there. Like it is still there. 

Essek kisses his way down Caleb’s stomach, leaving him quivering with anticipation. When he reaches the base of his cock, he switches directions, bites down on the point of Caleb’s hip. 

It’s been so long since Caleb’s really been touched, especially like this. He’s never been touched like this. There were a couple of encounters after the asylum, stolen hours in bedrooms and inns. Once it even meant more to him than a place to sleep. 

This feels like Essek cataloging every inch of skin, wanting to kiss and touch it all. Magic vibrates beneath Caleb’s skin, electric and maddening. 

“Please,” Caleb gasps. “Touch me.” 

Essek, to his credit, doesn’t make the obvious joke that that’s what he’s already doing. He nuzzles a kiss into the inside of Caleb’s thigh and then his head comes up, staring into his eyes. His pupils are dilated, the blue blazing. “Show me how you like it.” 

Caleb wraps a hand around himself and strokes, too soft and too slow. He’s afraid to do anything more, doesn’t want this to be over before Essek can get his hand on him. 

“Is that it?” Essek asks, his voice almost academic. 

“No.” Caleb’s back arches as he tightens his grip on himself. “Don’t want to come too fast.” 

Essek’s hand wraps over his own. His grip tightens but starts slow, almost luxurious. Caleb gasps at the sensation of the tips of Essek’s fingers running down his cock, between his own. 

Even touching him, Essek feels too far away. Caleb lets go, clinging to Essek’s shoulders. He tugs until Essek straddles his waist, his thighs flexing. He leans down, lips parted, until there’s barely any space between them. Caleb bucks up, their cocks brushing together. 

Essek stills, a low moan deep in his throat, and balances himself to wrap his long fingers around both their cocks together. 

Caleb lets out a long sigh of relief, relaxing into the bed. His legs bend, bracketing Essek’s hips but not holding on. He goes almost boneless beneath him, surrendering to the soft strokes and the slick warmth of their own pre-come. 

It feels _right_, this, in a way that nothing has before. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring—if they’ll stop Obann and the Laughing Hand, if they’ll avert the war, if they’ll even survive trying—but tomorrow seems like a lifetime away in this room, in Essek’s arms. This is home, as much as this ridiculous building is, as much as Rosohna, as much as the Mighty Nein. 

Caleb works his hand between them, links their fingers together, fucking up into their hands. His body rolls beneath Essek, the friction delicious. 

Essek ducks down, brushing his lips over the stubble across Caleb’s chin. His hand speeds up, gripping tighter. Heat races down Caleb’s spine, pools just below his navel. 

“I want to see you,” Essek growls into the hollow of his throat. “I want to see what you look like when you come apart.” 

Caleb groans, low and deep. He’s close, _so close_. “Please, Essek. _Please_.” 

Essek surges up into a kiss. His tongue licks over the roof of Caleb’s mouth, as roughly as the hand around their cocks. His strokes quicken, faster and faster, until it’s all Caleb can do to hang on to him. Essek’s free hand braces on his chest, palm covering the scar, magic surging through the both of them. 

Caleb’s head slams backward as his whole body arches. He comes, shuddering and gasping for breath, come coating their hands and stomachs. Essek sits up on his knees, hand stroking his own cock.

He looks debauched, his normally perfect hair a disorganized mess, white streaking the dark blue of his skin. 

“_Fuck_,” Caleb hisses, as Essek comes on his stomach. 

It’s obscene and sticky and _gorgeous_. Essek’s lips part, showing just a hint of teeth and tongue, his head rolls to the side, and every muscle tenses with the force of it. They stare down at their collective mess, chests heaving as they work on catching their breath, bringing their minds back to the world outside the two of them. 

“You never cease to surprise me,” Essek says thoughtfully, trailing two fingers through the come drying on Caleb’s stomach. 

“I’d like to continue doing that,” Caleb says, almost cautious. He feels oddly self-conscious under Essek’s casual touch, considering everything they’ve just done. “If you’ll let me.” 

“I meant it, when I said I want to see where this goes.” Essek stretches out on his side. Caleb raises an arm, letting the drow snuggle against his chest. He waits for the inevitable tension in his chest, the anxiety, the self-loathing. It doesn’t come, not yet at least, his whole body warm with the afterglow. 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen.” 

Essek waves a hand, cleaning them both up. The blankets settle over them, warm and comforting. “Nor do I.” 

“I’m glad you came to me.” Caleb isn’t sure if he’s referring to the moment they met, when Essek was injured, or today when he turned up in the kitchen. It’s all three, really, and every moment in between. 

Essek’s hand comes to rest on his chest, hiding the scar from view. “You’re bringing peace to my people, and to me.” 

Caleb opens his mouth, finding himself at a loss for words. Instead, he covers Essek’s hand with his own, threading their fingers together. As he feels the tick of the hours, a calm slips over him like the blanket. 

Whatever tomorrow brings, he won’t have to face it alone. 

***

“Are you sure about this?” Jester’s face is filled with hesitation as she stares at the scar on his chest. She wrings her hands in front of her. “You don’t have to, you know.” 

“I know.” Caleb smiles, his gaze wandering to Essek lurking behind her. The Shadowhand is the picture of calm but there’s a strange twitch in the line of his mouth. “I want to try.” 

Jester nods and rubs her hands together. Caleb pulls a pouch of diamond dust from his belt and hands it to her. It dangles from one hand as she rests the other on his shoulder. 

Caleb clenches his eyes shut as a cold wind blows through him. His chest feels like it’s coated in ice. 

“Oh, Caleb,” Jester says, softly. 

Disappointment roars through him. He’d known that it was a long shot, that the damage had been done decades ago, but he’d _hoped_. “It didn’t work,” he rasps. 

“Caleb.” Essek’s voice is right there in his ear, even though he didn’t hear the Shadowhand move. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that. “Open your eyes.” 

Caleb does, to his love watching him with a soft expression. The corners of Essek’s mouth are twitching into a smile. Essek nods and Caleb looks down. 

There it is. The moon. The clouds. 

Essek draws back his sleeve, offering his wrist beside it. Air rushes out of Caleb all at once. He’d known already, of course, but now he’s _sure_. 

Jester bounces on the balls of her feet, clapping. “It worked!”


End file.
